


Memento Vivere

by Marina_15



Series: You'll Remember This Again Someday [2]
Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon divergence from "The Snowplow", F/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-03 09:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16323512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marina_15/pseuds/Marina_15
Summary: Michael and Janet never open the door.





	Memento Vivere

Michael has never seen Janet look more human. 

"What do you mean, no? Janet, this is our last chance! If we don't intervene now-"

"No," Janet repeats sternly. The cheer programmed into her voice has ebbed away over the past year. "Michael, we can't keep meddling. We did our best, but we have to let things happen naturally now. The study was successful. They're on a good path."

"No. No, Janet. I won't. I _won't_. I can't risk them ending up in the Bad Place again." Michael is shaking. Is this what it means to be human, then? To feel desperate, impotent? The tortures he designed seem laughable in comparison.

"Your neighborhood was never perfect enough for you, Michael, and Earth won't be, either. You can't snap your fingers and reset them." Janet frowns. "Or me."

"Janet, I promise, I'm not resetting you." Michael holds out his hand. "Just please give me the key. I'm begging you."

Janet's arms twitch at her sides. "No."

"Janet."

"I'm going to talk to Jason before he leaves." Janet stands up straight. "I mean, I'm going to _meet_ Jason. I'm going to talk to Jason, and I'm going to meet Jason, and I don't know what else, but I'm going to do it like all the humans here." Her eyes soften. "Maybe you can try, too. I know you love them."

She turns on her heel and leaves Michael alone in the cellar.

Michael tries to shout to Janet, but it gets caught in his throat when his humans burst in a moment later, laughing and chatting.

"Don't mind us," Tahani chirps when she spots Michael, not seeing past his caterer's outfit. "We're just getting a bottle of champagne to celebrate the study. And my engagement, of course." The diamond ring on her finger glitters like a disco ball.

Jason looks puzzled. "Isn't champagne the name of that towel on TV?"

"That's a Shamwow," Chidi says.

"Jason's got a point," Eleanor says. "I've tested it, and Shamwows can absorb a  _lot_ of champagne. You just don't want to drink it out of the towel after."

Michael bows his head to conceal his face before realizing this puts him in direct eye contact with Eleanor. Despite their earlier conversation, her expression is almost neutral when their eyes meet. Michael ducks out of the room before she can say anything.

 

From a hallway, Michael watches Chidi leave Tahani's mansion. Jason and Janet follow several minutes later, Jason shouting, "I've never met anyone who knows more about Blake Bortles than me!"

Eleanor lingers around the foyer like a thief casing a joint, sipping champagne and staring at artwork in which Michael is sure she has no interest. Finally, she decides to go outside. Michael waits a few minutes before following her.

Eleanor is a shock of pink on the mansion stairs leading out to the driveway. Sitting, she holds the empty champagne flute in one hand, her other hand poking at the cell phone balanced on her knee. When Michael approaches, she starts and almost drops the glass.

"Oh, shit, shrimp waiter. I promise I was going to return this." She lifts the glass.

"I'm not here to hunt down dishes."

"Oh. Well, good, cause I actually might keep it." Eleanor relaxes. "Hey, thanks for the advice earlier. It didn't really help, and actually kinda made things worse, but you know, thanks for trying."

Two women in ball gowns dart down the stairs toward a limousine that is approaching the curb. One of them bumps into Michael and he nearly loses his balance.

The frustration building in Michael finally breaks, and turns and snaps, "Watch where you're going!" He is confused by the strange quality of his voice until he realizes Eleanor has spoken the same words in unison.

The woman scoffs and disappears into the limo without apologizing. Michael risks a glance at Eleanor, who grins broadly.

"Whoa, jinx. Do people still do jinx?" When he doesn't respond, she shakes her head. "Man, rich people really are something else."

"Yeah," Michael says weakly. No demonic outbursts in over a year, and now he's yelling at humans and suggesting arson in the same day. He shouldn't be feeling so giddy.

He gestures to the space next to Eleanor. "Mind if I...?"

Eleanor shrugs. "Go for it. Waiting for your ride, too?"

He isn't, but he nods and sits down about a foot away. Aside from their brief conversation earlier, it is the closest they have been since Michael posed as a bartender. His fingers tingle. He has to ball up his hands to avoid reaching for her.

"So your research group is splitting up?" Michael asks.

Eleanor's eyes flash with what looks like anger, but only for a moment. "Seems like it. And the worst part is, I'm supposed to handle it like an  _adult_."

Michael can't help but snort. Eleanor crinkles her eyes at him. It's difficult to look away from her, but even harder to keep looking.

"Being an adult is the worst, right?" she says. "But I guess there's not really any other choice. Even when all of your friends abandon you." She stares into the empty champagne glass.

Something between pride and anger swells in Michael's chest. Eleanor has come so far. It's criminal to end the study so early.

"No, that's not right. They're not abandoning me. I'm going to see them again. It's just, like,  _change_ , ugh." Eleanor waves her hands. "I'm the kind of girl who could eat pizza Hot Pockets every day for a year and never get sick of them. So all of  _this,_ " she gestures vaguely at the road, "moving to Australia, leaving my life behind. It was...." She trails off. "Anyway, now I have to go back home and do it the other way around."

She looks at Michael as if she forgot he was there. "Sorry. I don't usually talk the ears off random waiters. But... you know what I mean, don't you?"

"More than you know."

Eleanor narrows her eyes at him. Michael is so sure he sees a flicker of recognition that a hasty response is already on his lips, but she just looks away. "Man, you caterers are hardcore."

Michael is a natural liar, but so is Eleanor. Michael can be as zany as he wants with the other humans, but Eleanor would see through the disguises like glass. With Eleanor, he has to make the lies real enough that even he believes them.

"It's just that I seem to be in a similar situation to you," he says, resting his arms on his knees. It's true enough.

Eleanor cocks her head to the side. "Oh yeah? You get fired from caterer-ing in the hour since we met?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

She blows a raspberry. "Bummer, man. If it makes you feel better, I once got fired from a Burger King after working there for twenty minutes. Apparently if you have to sneak drinks in the bathroom it's _your_ problem, not theirs. So what are you going to do now?"

Michael stares at the rapidly dwindling line of cars parked at the mansion. "I don't know."

"Man, speaking of pizza Hot Pockets, I could really go for some pizza." Eleanor sets the glass on the step and stretches her arms over her head. "Doesn't pizza sound amazing?"

Michael hums absently in response. He and Janet found that they didn't need to eat on Earth (not so human after all). Although Michael sometimes indulged in eating in his neighborhood, he never really took up the habit here. Too busy watching his humans.

Well, that won't be a problem anymore. Michael looks at Eleanor and feels something crush the place his heart should be. It's probably the last time they'll ever talk to each other, and the topic is pizza, of all things. But he can't really think of anything better, and isn't that sad?

Eleanor huffs in irritation. "I _said_ , doesn't pizza sound amazing?"

Michael's attention snaps back to her. "What?"

"Well, do you want to go get pizza? My taxi's here." She nods at the car that has just pulled up. "It could be like, an anti-celebration. Like a 'yay, we're fired and/or losing all our friends' sort of celebration. An opposite celebration."

He gapes at her. "I- yes. Yes! Let's do that."

Eleanor grins. There's something dangerous and familiar in the glint of her teeth. "It'll be fun."

She loops her arm through his and drags him to his feet.

Only when they are in the taxi does she finally ask, "What's your name, dude? It might get weird if I just call you Bringer-of-Shrimp."

"It's Michael."

The streetlights alternate Eleanor in light and shadow. "Cool. I'm Eleanor."

"Nice to meet you, Eleanor."

 

If Michael had created a pizzeria in his neighborhood, he could have come up with hundreds of names more clever than Luigi's, but he decides that it isn't really so bad of a restaurant. His favorite human is sitting across from him on a tall chair, drowning her sorrows in beer and grease. A smear of pizza sauce mars her cheek like a wound. The florescent lights illuminate a light sheen of sweat on her brow. She is the epitome of disgusting humanity, and she is stunning.

"But that's Arizona for you," Eleanor says through a mouthful of crust. "What part of the U.S. are you from, anyway?"

Oh. The accent. "Well, uh, let's just say I'm from a really small town. I was kind of a big shot, but it was just a bubble, you know?" He cups the air with his hands and makes a popping sound with his mouth to demonstrate. "This is the first time I've been out of it, really."

Eleanor wipes her cheek, but it just smears the pizza sauce even more. "So are you gonna go back now?"

Michael shakes his head.

"Why not?"

He waves away the question. "I can't. It's complicated. What about you?"

Eleanor takes a gulp of beer. "Maybe. Not much to go back to, though. I sold everything to get here. I have enough for a flight back to Arizona, but what am I supposed to do after that?"

Michael is wondering if Janet could finagle another lottery ticket when Eleanor says, "Oh my God. You think I'm gold digging, don't you?"

"What? No I don't!"

"You totally do." She smirks. "I saw the look on your face. Dude, I just wanted to go out for pizza, okay? Promise. Besides, you just got fired. Not exactly raking it in either, are you?"

"Eleanor, I never thought-" He stops, realizes she's teasing him. "Very funny."

She lifts her eyebrows mischievously and nudges the tray his way. "Come on, eat more. We're both jobless now, so who knows if we'll ever be able to afford pizza again?"

 

A half hour later, Eleanor wipes grease from her fingers on a ratty napkin. "So this is going to sound crazy..."

Michael smiles. "More than anything else you've talked about tonight?"

"Haha. Shut up. But really." Eleanor tosses the napkin aside. "Have we met before? You seem really, really familiar."

Michael's fingers involuntarily move to a snapping position. The reflex chills him. He swallows and rests his hands in his lap. Eleanor's eyes follow their path and her mouth twists up oddly. 

"Where would we have met?" Michael asks.

"Well, that's the thing, bud, I don't know," Eleanor says after a long moment, chewing on the straw from her water glass. "Fact is, I never really left Arizona until recently."

The truth would damn Eleanor to the Bad Place, but sometimes, while watching her on the monitors in the empty journalism offices, Michael has fantasized about her memories returning. Even the memories she asked him to remove.  _Especially_  those. Not to recover anything they had before--Eleanor had made it clear that it all had been a mistake--but to make things even. Fair. Right now they're playing a game in which only Michael knows the rules.

But it's just a fantasy. With the timeline resetting, Eleanor never made those memories in the first place. That thought gives Michael an emotion he doesn't have a name for. Eleanor has always been good at doing that to him.

"Maybe I just have one of those faces?" Michael offers. "You're always hearing about hu- about people who have those faces."

Eleanor wags her finger at him. "No, it's not that. I'll figure it out. It'll probably come to me in a week and I'll be like, 'Oh yeah, that's how I know him.'" She wrinkles her nose. "But you won't be there for me to tell you, will you? So I guess it doesn't matter."

The change in her mood is palpable, makes the hair on Michael's arms stand on end.

"Maybe nothing matters," Eleanor says brightly. Too brightly. "Even though we spend months, _years_ , working hard, getting to know people, being nice to them... maybe it's all just pointless." She removes the straw from her mouth and sets it on the rim of her plate. It's crimped with tooth marks. "Everyone will just act like they were never your friends. And here's the fucking kicker: they'll pretend that rejecting you is part of some noble cause." Her eyes meet his. "Like academic research. So I've figured it out. Nothing matters. _I_ don't really matter. It's kind of liberating, isn't it?"

"Now, Eleanor, wait a minute," Michael says. "That's not true. You matter."

Eleanor stares at him, her lips pressed together tightly. "How do you know? We just met."

"I know that you've turned a pretty crappy day into a pretty good one," he says. "That matters to me."

Eleanor is suddenly blinking rapidly, her lower lip trembling, and Michael realizes too late that she's about to cry. It catches him off guard, but he's not sure why. He has read her file, after all.

By the time Michael leaves his chair and comes over to Eleanor's side of the table she's sobbing into the drinks menu. When he approaches, Eleanor drops the menu and fists her hands into his shirt so tightly her knuckles whiten. She presses her face into his chest. Michael pats her head awkwardly; her hair is soft under his fingers.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out, voice muffled. "It's been a long day."

"Hey, hey, it's okay."

"People are staring." Eleanor lifts up her head and sniffs. "And I think I got pizza sauce on your waiter shirt."

He looks down. There's a splotch of red on his chest. "I won't be needing it anymore."

"It looks like you got stabbed." Eleanor releases her grip and wipes her face on her sleeve. "Maybe I should just head back to my hotel."

Michael knew their goodbyes would have to happen sometime, but the metaphorical stab to his chest suddenly feels very real. He scrambles for things to say to get Eleanor to stay just a little longer, but every idea is just another deceit.

"Okay," Michael says instead. He smiles and it feels like his face is cracking. "I'll take care of the bill. You head home."

Eleanor shakes her head. "No, we'll go halfsies." She rustles in her purse for her wallet and produces a few bills. "It was really nice talking to you, by the way," she says as she lays them on the table. "I mean, if you ignore the crying, it was a pretty fun night, right?"

"It certainly was."

"Next time we'll have to do karaoke or something." Eleanor sniffs, rustles through her wallet again. "Well, this is awkward. Do you want to share a taxi home? I mean, to our separate homes, not to... you know what I mean. I just realized that I don't have enough cash to get one myself. Guess I should have let you buy the pizza."

This emotion, he recognizes as relief. "Of course."

 

This taxi ride is quieter. Michael tells the driver to head toward Eleanor's hotel first, because he technically lives in the university's journalism department and that would lead to a whole host of questions he couldn't answer.

Halfway home, without speaking, Eleanor leans forward in the darkness as if to kiss him, then stops. Michael can feel her breath on his face. 

"I'm sorry," she whispers, pulling back.

"Don't be sorry," he says quickly.

"Yeah, I know, but still... I shouldn't." Eleanor sighs. "I'm trying to be a good person, and letting someone get involved with me isn't something a good person would do."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"I'm bad news, okay? I'm not kidding. Straight up trash."

"Doesn't seem like it to me," Michael says. "If you're trash, then that doesn't leave much hope for people like me."

Eleanor snorts. "You? Are you kidding me? You're like a cross between Orville Redenbacher and Batman's butler."

Michael smiles into his lap. "I'll try not to feel personally offended by that."

"Listen, I'm not gonna lie and say there's not, like, mad chemistry between us."

Michael's stomach swoops. "Oh?"

"I don't get it," Eleanor says. "You're definitely not my usual type, but whatever. It doesn't matter."

Michael swallows and looks out the window. "Don't worry about it, okay?"

Michael doesn't think he could go through with it anyway, not without Eleanor knowing their history. It wouldn't be fair, Eleanor starting from square one and Michael completely... Well, it just wouldn't be right. Chidi taught him that much.

"I'm just trying to be better," Eleanor offers. "I know, how lame, but it's something that's been kind of important to me lately."

"You're not lame. You're absolutely right. Being a good person  _is_  the most important thing. You should remember that."

Eleanor shifts uncomfortably, as if she expected more of an argument. "Right."

 

They're pulling onto Eleanor's block when she says, "Hey, thanks again for tonight. I really owe you one."

"You don't owe me anything," he says.

Something changes. Only half of Eleanor's face is visible, lit by the streetlights outside, but Michael sees the shift immediately. The spark of understanding in her eyes has tattooed itself in his mind.

"How-" he begins.

"Holy fucking shit." She turns toward him.

"Listen, Eleanor."

"You're that bartender, aren't you? I knew it. I  _knew_  I recognized you from somewhere."

Oh. So that's what she remembers. Stupid, to think she could remember other things, things that never happened.

It takes Michael a moment to recover from his shock, and he defaults to a lie: "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, bullshit."

Stupid, trying to lie to her.

Eleanor eyes the taxi driver and lowers her voice. "You haven't been  _following_  me, have you?" Her tone, a mix of horror and excitement, bewilders Michael. "Are you a stalker? Or a spy?"

Michael lifts his hands up on instinct (Eleanor _has_ resorted to physical violence in the past) and chooses his words carefully. "I've worked as a bartender, and we may have met. But meeting someone in two different places doesn't mean they're following you."

Eleanor shakes her head. "It's more than that. The way you look at me, it's like you know me."

Michael wonders how much he'd injure his human suit if he just opened the car door and jumped out. "Okay, I recognized you. But that still doesn't mean I'm some kind of stalker."

"If you recognized me, why didn't you say anything? Huh? Why didn't you speak up when I said you looked familiar?" Eleanor doesn't sound angry. Her tone is of someone who has just solved a particularly difficult jigsaw puzzle.

"Because I didn't think you'd remember me. Why would you? It was more than a year ago."

"You're the reason I'm in Australia, weirdo!"

It takes both of them a moment to realize the taxi has stopped. The driver glances back at them uneasily.

"We're here," the man says. "Uh, ma'am, do you need-"

"Stop trying to be a hero, pal," Eleanor says. "I'm fine."

Eleanor unbuckles her seat belt and grabs her purse. Once she's out of the car, Michael expects her to walk away, but she just stands by the door.

"You. Michael. Pay the driver and get out."

"What?"

Eleanor throws up her hands. "Just get out. We're not done here."

Michael wants to have a nice long chat with Eleanor about self preservation instincts, which include not inviting possible stalkers into one's home, but perhaps now is not the time. He hands the driver several bills and joins Eleanor on the curb.

"You really want me to come with you?"

"Well, duh." She rolls her eyes. "Listen, if you turn out to be a psycho murderer, I know I could take you. I mean, look at you." Her eyes drift up his body. "Although you are kinda tall."

Michael is suddenly reminded of the reboot when Eleanor punched him square in the face.

"The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Eleanor."

"Good for your sake. Now come on."

 

Eleanor's room is messy and there is nowhere to sit but the bed, so Michael stands.

Eleanor remains standing, too, and as she speaks, she begins to circle him. Michael, almost unconsciously, mirrors her movements. It reminds him of their earlier confrontations, those tense moments of uncertainly right before she would annihilate him.

"Okay, what gives?" Eleanor asks. "What's with the secrecy?"

"I'm the reason you came to Australia?" Michael asks.

Eleanor stops circling. "What I meant was that you said this thing, and it led me to Google, which led me to YouTube, which led me here. Stop deflecting."

"And you think that I somehow knew you would do a Google search and come to Australia?"

Eleanor crosses her arms and looks away. "All right, I realize that it sounds kind of far-fetched, but that's a pretty big fucking coincidence, don't you think? You somehow send me here and then appear? And I flunked geography, but Arizona and Australia aren't exactly next door to each other."

"Strange things happen, Eleanor. All the time."

Eleanor's passion visibly deflates. Sighing heavily, she flops onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling. "I  _guess_." She laughs. "You know what the saddest part is? I almost hoped you were following me, because it would mean that there was some meaning to all of this. Even if it was creepy."

"You deserve better than that," Michael says, and it makes him feel nauseous, because isn't that what he and Janet have been doing? Following Eleanor and the other humans, monitoring them, conferring on their lives some kind of special meaning?

"See, there you go again, acting like you know me."

Michael sighs and slides his hands into his pockets. "All right. I should go."

"Wait, wait, wait." Eleanor addresses a water stain on the ceiling. "So what was all that about being from a small town? Is it a town in Arizona?"

"No, I was just in Arizona for the bartending job." Michael pauses. He may as well be honest. "And to visit an old friend."

This seems to pique Eleanor's interest. "Oh yeah? Did you get to see them while you were there?"

"Yeah, I was able to talk to her for a little while. Not long enough."

Eleanor lifts herself up on her elbows and eyes him appraisingly. "Girlfriend?"

Michael smiles sadly, shakes his head. "No."

Eleanor stares into him as if she, too, can see in nine dimensions. "But you were in love with her?" 

Michael hesitates. "Yes."

Eleanor sits up. "I knew it. It's all coming back to me. I was hitting on you all night, and when you didn't take the bait I figured, well, either he's already got a girlfriend, he's asexual, or he's gay." She lifts a finger for each option. "So I wasn't too far off with the one guess, was I?"

"You were hitting.... You were?"

She snickers. "Wow, you really can't take a hint, can you?"

"Maybe you just weren't being as obvious as you thought." Michael shrugs. 

In truth, Eleanor couldn't have been more obvious if she'd lit up a neon sign, but Michael hadn't let himself believe it. Or if he  _had_ believed it, even a little, he had too often seen the light in Eleanor's eyes die (snapped it away) to really think anything of her flirting. As it went, the light died (he killed it), Eleanor was a blank slate again (he erased her), and anything she said before no longer applied. Michael saw it (made it) happen, had held her during it.

"Well, even if you're not a stalker, I'm the new Eleanor now, so I'm not going to have sex with you."

Michael chuckles. "Yeah, I think we've established that. Really, though, don't worry about it."

Eleanor bites her lip, looks away. "But, like, if you want to stay for a drink or whatever, you totally could do that."

Staying would be a truly stupid idea, Michael thinks. Absolutely ridiculous. If talking to Eleanor is tempting fate, then staying here is flat out _seducing_ fate.

"Okay," Michael says.

 

"So what I don't understand is if this doctor character has invented a time travelling mailbox, why doesn't she try to sell it or something? I'm sure you could make a fortune off of that."

"What? First, she didn't invent the mailbox. It's a magical mailbox. It's just there, at the cabin. Second, if she's a doctor and can afford to live in some swanky cabin, she doesn't need the money. Third, it's a romance movie. You're not supposed to think about it, just feel, like, sad or whatever."

"Well, it's not making me feel sad and it doesn't make any sense."

Eleanor stuffs a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Yeah, it's stupid," she agrees, kernels spilling onto her shirt and the bed sheets. "Do you want to watch something else?"

"No, it's fine." Michael shifts and the mattress creaks under him. It's really a crappy bed. He feels guilty that Eleanor has been sleeping here for more than a year, but it doesn't seem to bother her.

Eleanor tosses back the remainder of her vodka and Diet Coke. "You make a good point, though. If I had a time travelling mailbox, I'd do a lot cooler shit than what Sandra Bullock is doing." She grins wickedly. "I mean, think of the payback you could get on people, right?"

Michael raises a brow. "Aren't you trying to be a better person?"

Eleanor rolls her eyes. "Yeah, but I'm just fantasizing, bud. I don't think I'm going to come across magic anytime soon."

 

Michael blinks and the room is dark aside from the greenish glow of the television. He is lying on his side on top of the sheets. Eleanor is sprawled on her back beside him, snoring gently.

Michael is not accustomed to sleeping, certainly not by accident. For the past year, he and Janet would chat or read books at night after the long hours of crowding around the monitors and meddling in the humans' lives. They read anything they could get their hands on: celebrity magazines, pulp paperbacks from the eighties with musty smelling pages, highlighted textbooks they found on campus. Reading was ethnography to them. It was a way to learn about the humans whom they resembled, the humans who were still so inscrutable most of the time.

Is Janet back at their headquarters now? Is she ever coming back? Michael's loneliness is suddenly tangible, manifesting in shadows on the peeling hotel walls.

Michael sits up and Eleanor mutters in her sleep, swatting weakly at the air in front of her. There are bits of popcorn stuck to her shirt.

Michael needs to go home. Although jealousy is no longer an emotion foreign to him, the fact that Eleanor isn't with Chidi seems like a bad omen. Eleanor and Chidi always bring out the best in each other, add to each other's goodness. Michael doesn't think he and Eleanor necessarily bring out the worst in each other, not anymore, but he's also not sure their goodness is more than the sum of its parts. They're more like... trolley tracks, running parallel to each other. She doesn't need him, doesn't want him.

Michael clears his throat and bends down, kissing Eleanor lightly on the forehead.

"Goodbye, Eleanor."

Eleanor's eyes flutter open.

"Michael?" she says hoarsely. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry. I accidentally fell asleep. I'm leaving now."

" _You_  fell asleep?" Eleanor blinks at him groggily. "I didn't know you could do that."

It takes Michael a moment to find his voice. Surely she can't mean what he thinks she means. "Just go back to sleep. I'll try not to be too loud."

Eleanor sits up and grasps Michael's arm before he can get out of bed.

"How do I know you?" she asks. Her fingernails dig through his shirt into his skin. Something sharp swims in her gaze. It's the look she would get when she was  _this_  close to figuring him out.

"I was your bartender, remember?" he says.

"No, but... How do I  _know_  you? You feel it too, don't you?"

Michael feels as if they're teetering on a precipice. "Eleanor..."

"You say my name like you know it, too."

"I do know your name." 

Eleanor relaxes her grip only slightly. "When I woke up, I recognized you. But it wasn't you. I really don't- _ah!_ "

She presses the heel of her free hand into her forehead and squeezes her eyes shut.

"Eleanor? Are you okay?" Michael hovers above her, afraid to touch her.

"Oh, fuck," Eleanor hisses. She releases his arm and shudders in pain. Tears well up in the corners of her eyes.

Michael is on his feet in seconds and scrambles to find Eleanor's cell phone on the nightstand amid empty popcorn bags, dirty glasses, wads of tissue, and cosmetics. Where did she leave it? The clutter of Eleanor's everyday life is suddenly mountainous.

"Michael," she says through gritted teeth.

"I'm trying to find the phone. I can call an ambulance, I-"

"Stop!" she cries. "Just... just stop."

He whirls around. Eleanor is breathing sharply, staring down at her knees. She doesn't seem to be in pain anymore, but there is something heavy in her posture.

"Oh my God," she says, heaving. "Oh my God."

Eleanor fixes her gaze on him and Michael understands.

"I think I remember everything."

 

Michael makes them shitty tea in paper cups and they sit side by side on the bed. Eleanor has calmed down, the tears dry on her cheeks, but she isn't looking at him fully. She nods at the floor when he hands her one of the cups.

"You know, I started having these weird dreams after I met you at the bar," she says, clutching the cup tightly. "I didn't connect them to you, obviously, but I think they were memories."

Michael takes a sip of his tea, nearly chokes on the flavor. "That shouldn't be possible. None of this should. The things you're remembering, they never even happened on this timeline."

"The judge must have brought me back wrong," Eleanor says. "I can't get into the Good Place if I know about it, right? It means my motivations are corrupt, or whatever."

"I'm afraid that's true."

Eleanor stares at a pile of dirty laundry on the floor. "Michael... do you think I was too bad for a second chance? Is that why everyone else got a new start and I didn't? "

Michael shakes his head violently. "Of course not. It was just a mistake. If I were able to go back, I would ask them to reset the timeline again and fix all of this."

"'If?' You can't go back?"

"Janet and I seem to have, uh, gone rogue," he admits.

Hysteria tinges Eleanor's laugh. "Wonderful. Very convenient." She swishes the tea in her cup. "So Janet is around, too?"

"Oh, yes. She is. I think she's with Jason, actually."

Eleanor finally raises her eyes, and Michael is taken aback by the bitterness in them. "What are you even  _doing_  here, Michael? Just checking in? Because you shouldn't have. You're going to leave and I'm going to be alone with three hundred years of this in my head. All by myself. It's worse than if you never came."

"I know I messed up. I really do. I'm sorry. I didn't think- I never thought you'd remember anything if I didn't tell you. I just had to see that you were doing okay with the study being over. I know how much you four rely on each other. You know, I didn't think it was a good idea, splitting you up." The words pour out of him and he's not even sure Eleanor is listening.

"You can't control everything here, Michael," Eleanor says after a moment. "This isn't your neighborhood."

There is a trace of wary doubt in her eyes, as if she is not so sure this isn't another reboot. Her suspicion knocks the wind from Michael. He presses his hands together as if in prayer.

"Please know that everything I learned from you four humans is there. It's still there."

Eleanor nods, looking exhausted, but the doubt is gone. "I know, Michael."

"So you..." Michael pauses, frowns. "So you remember every single reboot?"

"Yeah, I think so," she says. "They're all blended together right now, but I think so."

Eleanor has never remembered  _everything_ before. The sheer quantity of memories must be staggering to a human brain. Michael is surprised at her composure, and suddenly feels exposed and raw, as if he had been left out in the sun. If Eleanor can remember everything, then she knows Michael better than anyone else in life or death. She knows his flaws, his evils, his weaknesses, his every mistake and snafu and fuck-up. She knows him as a lover and an enemy and a friend. There is no best self he can present to her anymore.

"Then I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of it, Eleanor." But what good are those few words? He could write a library of apology to the humans and it still wouldn't come close to excusing three hundred years of torture.

"Yeah, I know. And I'm sorry for being all suspicious for a second there. My memories are a little scrambled right now."

"No, no. It's reasonable."

"But it's not. Not anymore. Besides, like I told you, I'm trying to be a better person. I feel like that might involve forgiving asshole demons who just wanted to hang out." Something close to a smile flickers on Eleanor's face. 

"You're still trying, even though you know you can't get to the Good Place now?"

Eleanor chews on a nail and stares at the wall intently. "I mean, I guess so. Might as well try, right? Or at least keep other people from going down with me."

Michael considers this. "I think that might be one of the best things a good person could do, don't you think?"

The faint smile returns. "Yeah, I guess it is. What can I say? I had good teachers. Speaking of which, are you going to check in on everyone else?"

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea after what just happened with you."

Eleanor glances at the clock on the nightstand. It's almost five in the morning. "They're all happy now. Happier than they were in the Bad Place, obviously. Chidi has a really wonderful girlfriend, Simone. I think he's going to propose to her." Eleanor's brow creases for a moment. "Tahani is really thinking about her causes now, doing good things  _because_ they're good. And if Janet's with Jason, then he's definitely on a good path. I really think they've all got a shot at getting into the Good Place."

Michael's face must have revealed more than he intended, for Eleanor adds, "You shouldn't feel bad about me."

Michael laughs bitterly. "Is that a joke? Of course I feel bad. I feel worse than bad. If I hadn't screwed this up-"

"I don't think I ever would have made it, Michael." Eleanor sets the cup of tea on the floor.

"That's not true," he says fiercely. "I refuse to believe that."

"I think I would've just gone back to being shitty old Eleanor on my own," Eleanor says with a shrug. "It happened before. It would probably happen again. I'm a better person with my memories, but that's only because I've got three hundred years of ethics lessons stored in here." She gestures to her temple.

Michael wants to argue, but it's pointless. They lapse into silence. The sky outside fades from black to gray. The television continues to emit a dull, unintelligible murmur.

"Eleanor, what you said earlier, about being alone with the memories," Michael says finally. "You don't have to be. I can stick around."

A shadow crosses Eleanor's face.

"Only if you want me to," he adds hurriedly.

Eleanor hesitates. "Michael, I want to talk about that last reboot."

Michael immediately knows what she is referring to. Looking into Eleanor's face is, once again, looking into a mirror. A glass, darkly.

"Don't worry about it, Eleanor."

"No, I need to say this." Her voice is steady. "So, look, I slept with Chidi way more times than with you. Tahani, too. You probably know that."

Michael nods slowly, reluctantly.

"With them, it all happened under such crazy circumstances. None of us really knew what was going on. I'm not saying I didn't love them, because I did. I still do." She clears her throat and looks away. "But with you, it was different because I knew everything. I understood the stakes. So it was different, and it was  _scary_."

Michael squints at her. Eleanor doesn't get scared. Never in three hundred years has he seen a trace of fear in her eyes. As a demon, it was his greatest failure. As a not quite human being, it is everything. "You were afraid... of me?"

"You? No." Eleanor makes a face. "Of course not you, dummy. Scared of... the situation, I guess. I just panicked, okay? I wanted to take the easy way out, and I tried to pretend it was the right thing to do. So I'm sorry."

"'Sorry?'" He blinks.

"Yeah. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that."

"It's fine. It really doesn't matter."

"But it does matter," Eleanor insists. "You can't lie to me and say it doesn't matter to you. I know what I did was wrong, but stop pretending you don't care. That's all anyone ever does to me and I'm sick of it."

Michael gazes at the floor so Eleanor can't see his face, afraid that she will see too much in it. "I'm not trying to pretend. You humans and Janet are the only things I've ever loved. Ever." He risks eye contact. "And it's different with you. It always has been. You know that." The feeling of rawness returns.

Eleanor runs a hand through her hair. Her cheeks flush. "Oh."

"It's not supposed to be possible, you know. Beings like me loving anyone. Heck, I didn't even know what that word really meant for, well, you wouldn't really be able to understand the sheer amount of time, but you get the picture."

"Okay, so why?" Eleanor asks, crossing her legs under her. "Why... me? I mean, tons of people think I'm hot, but, like, hardly anyone has ever loved me." Eleanor uses her fingers to make scare quotes around the word "loved." That gives Michael another emotion he cannot name.

"I love you because you were never afraid of me," Michael says. "And because you prove that there's hope for people like us. And..." He squirms. "I don't really know all the reasons. I hope you recognize that this is all very, very weird for me."

Eleanor's mouth quirks up. "You and me both, buddy." The smile fades. "Also... you should know that just because I can't say it doesn't mean I... don't."

Their eyes meet. Michael nods. Slowly, Eleanor leans into him and kisses him so lightly he barely feels it, but it's enough. It's enough.

"Well, I think we're screwed on sleep for tonight," she says quickly, standing up and stretching. "How do you feel about breakfast?"

"As a general concept, or...?"

"Listen, dude, you invented an entire town with a scrambled eggs theme. You have to have some opinion on breakfast." Eleanor is back to her usual banter, but something has shifted in one of her nine dimensions. Michael isn't sure what, exactly, but he can feel it. It makes him smile.

"Oh, yes, Reboot 374," he says. "I forgot about that one."

Eleanor pulls a face. "Lucky you. I mean, 'Egg Misbehaving?' 'That's All, Yolks?'"

"All right. I was having an off day."

Michael can't stop smiling and he feels ridiculous, but Eleanor is smiling, too. Maybe it's not such a crazy thing for two people (or one person and one almost-a-person) who are damned to Hell to keep smiling.

"You know something?" Eleanor says, tilting her head to study him. "I don't think I've ever seen you look more human."


End file.
